Sadness is a funny thing. It has an ebb and flow that’s impossible to predict. I am finding infinite thanks in one thing that is as predictable as the turning of the earth – there will always be new music out there, somewhere. The planet may be groaning under the weight of seven billion people, but from that vast cosmos, that universe of minds and souls, will always spring new music, new art. People will always find new ways to tell their stories, to lay their hearts bare. One of the things that’s keeping me sane right now. One of the few addictions in this world that seems to have no down side, except that you can never be truly sated. But then that’s life, isn’t it. The moment you stop searching, stop yearning, stop reaching, then all that’s left is stagnancy and static.

Driving home on the day, we saw a young girl smoking, and both of us, independently, could not believe the sheer stupidity of it. Life is short enough, hard enough, fleeting enough as it is. How anyone can thoughtlessly risk cutting that thin bright ribbon short on something so utterly pointless, is baffling to me.

I want to devour the world, and I have only this damaged anomaly of a vessel to do it in. I’ve already wasted a huge amount of these four decades on laters and what-ifs. I’d be kidding myself if I pretended this will all mean a shining brand new start, a renewed vigour and unswerving dedication to reaching those peaks before the grey sets it. But I’m going to at least give it a damned good try. It’s all well and good to say, fuck the world, I’m going to leap into the abyss with eyes wide open, in the surreal dream-zone of the after-dark hours. Waking to daytime always finds mundane reality has once again taken its stubborn hold, caught you in its dull unrelenting grip. Finding ways to break free, that’s the tricky part. But as long as I can close my eyes, and find an infinity of possibility on the inside, maybe the outside might give a little, now and then, leaving a hollow or a crack here and there to squeeze through.

That’s optimism for you – more curse than blessing, but what can you do. There’s still love in the world, as long as there are lovers in it. And that’s something.